Chapter 8
Lily woke and wondered if she had made a terrible mistake agreeing to go to the audition. That was the problem with her and handsome men: she seemed to lose her willpower to make smart decisions.
She walked downstairs and set up breakfast for Gran, then she let the cat outside and left the back door open. It was a beautiful morning and Lily remembered how much she loved hearing nothing.
The noise pollution in London was so distracting, you couldn’t get away from it. Even in the flat with Nigel, she could hear the cars and people moving about the apartment building, or music and horns and lorries.
Here she couldn’t hear anything other than the garden.
The tranquillity of Appleton Green encircled Lily like a cosy blanket, providing her with a sense of comfort as she leaned against the doorframe in her nightgown and cardigan.
Here, in the middle of the countryside, a different kind of symphony was being played.
Lily had always had excellent hearing; she was also pitch-perfect.
It was a skill not many have and she could hear all the beauty around her.
The sound of the leaves gently rustling in the old apple tree was the first thing that drew her attention.
The sound was so subtle that it was almost like a whisper, as if the tree was gossiping with the wind about something.
Probably her return, she thought with a smile.
The pattern was calming, rising and sinking with each breeze that blew through the garden.
Underneath this, Lily was able to pick up on the sound of the blackbirds singing. It sounded like an operetta singer, in contrast to the monotonous cooing of London’s pigeons. She closed her eyes, and heard the chirpy trill of a robin, and the rapid-fire chatter of sparrows.
There were some cows making themselves known in the farm not too far away, a soft, low sound that appeared to roll across the fields, like a pleasant sort of baritone.
And the sound of the ever-present undercurrent of buzzing insects served as the garden’s rhythm section.
The hum of bees could be heard as they flitted from flower to flower, their hard labour producing a background noise that was not quite audible, but if Lily concentrated she could hear them.
Occasionally, a dragonfly would whirr past, a lovely snare drum of a sound from its wings. Oh it was so good to be back.
‘Morning.’ Lily heard and saw Gran coming down the stairs, one at a time, using her stick. Lily rushed over and set the frame up for her to use once she came to the bottom.’
Violet tapped the frame with her stick. ‘This is silly, I tell you.’
‘This will keep you at home longer,’ said Lily firmly.
Gran turned her nose up at both the frame and Lily and walked to the kitchen table.
‘Close the door – it’s freezing,’ she complained.
‘Sorry, I was listening to the garden,’ Lily said. Gran nodded. It was something they had always done when she was small. ‘A few dragonflies out this morning,’ she said.
‘Might have been damselflies,’ said Gran.
‘Hmm not sure,’ she admitted.
‘Damselflies are smaller; they symbolise protection. The dragonflies are bigger; they carry change with them,’ she said to Lily.
Lily thought for a moment. ‘Dragonflies, definitely.’
‘Speaking of change,’ said Gran as Lily poured hot water into the teapot, ‘what will you do about the audition? Which song will you sing? I still have all the old sheet music in the piano stool for you to use.’
Lily shook her head. ‘I don’t think I should,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to waste their time if I’m not staying.’
Gran sniffed at her. ‘But you think Nick is handsome enough – perhaps that’s enough of a reason to go.’
Lily pulled on her earlobe for a moment. ‘Is he? I didn’t really notice.’
‘Liar, liar, pants on fire. Your tongue was as long as a telephone wire!’ Gran sang.
‘You’re a ninety-seven-year-old child,’ she said.
‘You have two tells when you lie, and you just showed one of them,’ Gran said.
‘What are they?’ Lily frowned, trying to think what she had done.
‘I will take that to my grave,’ said Gran. ‘Now hurry up and get me some toast and tell me what song you’re singing and what you’re wearing. I want Sheila Trotter to be impressed by you.’
Lily sighed. She wasn’t going to win against Gran today.
*
That evening Lily paced in her bedroom, trying to warm up her voice, but nothing was coming out, just a weird noise escaping from her throat that sounded like the last of the bathwater draining away.
She closed her eyes and saw a flashback of hiding in the costumes in London after the failed audition, and her eyes stung with unshed tears. What was wrong with her? The shrill sound of the doorbell made her jump.
‘Nick’s here,’ she heard Gran call from downstairs as the doorbell rang.
This is a stupid idea , she thought as she went down to answer the door.
She was dressed in a plum-coloured dress with a scoop neck that showed off her creamy skin and her hair was down, a cascade of glossy brunette curls. She had put on a little makeup and simple silver earrings.
‘Hi,’ she said as she opened the door to Nick. He was in jeans and a navy jumper and looked even more handsome out of his nursing clothes. His hair was messy and he gave her a wide smile.
‘All ready?’ he asked.
‘Come in,’ she said and stepped away from the door for him to enter the cottage.
‘Hello, Mrs Baxter, how are you feeling?’ he said.
She waved her stick at him. ‘Now don’t you be calling me Mrs Baxter; I’m Violet to you.’
Nick laughed. ‘Well I won’t argue since you’re using a weapon. I’m coming back on Friday to check your dressing on your nose and leg.’
‘I look forward to it,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.
‘And I hope you’re using the walking frame, not the stick?’ he said with a raised eyebrow at her.’
‘Of course,’ said Violet with sweet smile.
Nick looked at Lily who put her hands up. ‘I am saying nothing, because she might whack me with the stick in her sleep.’
Nick turned to Violet.
‘If you use the frame, it will be easier to steady yourself and then you won’t fall and break a hip and end up in a nursing home eating stewed apples three times a day.’
Lily saw her grandmother’s eyes flash and her jaw set.
‘I hate stewed apple,’ she said as though that was the deciding reason.
‘No, it’s not my favourite either,’ said Nick and he went the few short steps to the frame, then carried it back and put it to the side of her chair.
‘Best to be safe, Violet,’ he said and she gave an almost imperceptible nod.
‘You ready to go?’ He turned to Lily.
She sighed. ‘Listen, my voice is still playing up. I don’t think I can do it.’
Nick looked at her and frowned.
‘Well you’re all dressed up, and at worst you can try again in a different space, and nothing lost. At least come and see the other auditionees. It will be fun.’
‘This isn’t the West End, Lil. Have a nice night and listen to some singers and see how you feel,’ Gran said.
She thought about the night ahead with Gran. Listening to the radio or watching some television and then heading to bed early, waiting for the owls to call and wondering where her voice was. At least it would be a change of scene in which to feel wretched about her future.
‘I’ll be back to help you to bed,’ she said.
‘No, please, I can do that myself. I’ll use the frame down here. I’ll be fine,’ Violet said sternly.
‘I’ll bring you one for you to use upstairs on Friday,’ Nick said. ‘We have lots of them at work.’
‘Goody, I can’t wait,’ Gran said dryly and Lily shook her head.
‘Night, Gran.’ She kissed her grandmother on the cheek.
‘Goodnight, have a lovely time,’ Gran said and then she and Nick were out the door and into the cool night air.
They walked out of the cottage and through the gate and to Nick’s work car. Nick opened the door of the car for her, as she read what was written on the side.
‘Derby Homecare,’ she said. ‘A company car no less. All the bells and whistles.’
Nick laughed as he closed the door and came around and got into the driver’s seat.
‘If you ever need a bandage or some gauze, I’m your man,’ he said and he started the car and then drove up the road and into the heart of the village.
They passed the nearby cottages, the lights on inside, looking cosy and warm.
‘I do love it here,’ Lily said. ‘This village makes me feel calm.’
‘It’s lovely, probably the best village in the area,’ Nick said. ‘Have you thought about living here? Be nice for your gran to have you around.’
Lily gave a little laugh. ‘I don’t think I could have a career and live here – bit hard to commute after the shows.’
They drove past the shop, run by Mrs Douglas, from which Gran had her small selection of groceries delivered every week, and the post office, run by Jean Harris, which was only open Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
The Crumpetty Tree pub was open but it looked close to empty as they passed it by.
Everything was on half time in Appleton Green, she thought as they drove.
As a child she had dreamed of living in the cottage when she was an adult.
There was a safety and security there that was unlike anything she had at home.
Not that her childhood was terrible; it was simply lonely, even though being an only child she did lots of activities and she had school.
But when she was at Pippin Cottage, she never felt lonely.
Gran was her best friend. She had Gran and the villagers who all knew her name, though many of them had gone now; she had the owl who called at night; she had the stream she walked along and sang beside; she had the little garden and a sense of peace she had never really known anywhere else.
If she could live in the cottage and then go to the West End every day she would be as happy as a lamb, but that wasn’t possible.
Her phone pinged in her bag and she took it out.
A text from Nigel.
What’s happening? Voice better? Run has been extended. Won’t be back for an extra eight weeks.
She texted back.
No voice yet. Am going to try and sing tonight at the am dram audition. Don’t ask. It’s an experiment. I might stay with Gran for the summer. She’s frail.
Nigel sent back a sad face and some hearts and she slipped the phone back into her bag.
‘That’s my housemate. He’s on tour with The Wizard of Oz . He’s a swing and in the chorus,’ she said proudly.
‘That’s great,’ said Nick. ‘Did you two do a show together?’ he asked.
‘No, we met at university. He’s an incredible dancer. He does the big dance sort of shows, whereas I try and do the acting with singing shows or light opera,’ she said.
Nick turned the corner in the car. ‘Like The Secret Garden or Light in the Piazza ?’
Lily half turned towards him in the car. ‘How do you know those shows?’ she asked. ‘Knowing that is more than just liking a bit of Hamilton . That’s, like, serious knowledge.’
Nick laughed. ‘My secret is out. I’m a massive musical theatre nerd.
I try and go to shows as often as I can and have a large collection of soundtracks.
I’m a bit of an MT tragic actually,’ he said.
‘Which is funny, because people make assumptions about men who like musical theatre but I’m just a straight guy who loves a great sing in the car and on an amateur stage. ’
Lily remembered her own thoughts and felt a little embarrassed about them.
‘And you said your ex-girlfriend was also into musical theatre?’
‘Oh yes, very much,’ Nick said as he parked out the front of the village hall. ‘She’s a great singer, beautiful soprano.’
Lily wasn’t sure why that jarred with her but it did, and her competitive streak came forth.
‘Oh that’s nice,’ she said and wondered what Nick would think of her voice.
‘What’s her name?’ she asked as she got out of the car.
‘Jessica,’ he said as he closed the car door and they walked up to the hall. ‘But she’s in London, so I think Eliza will be all yours if you want it.’
‘I’m just practising; I’m not staying,’ she said.
‘It’s just for a test,’ she said again but she wondered if she was trying to convince herself.
A summer with Nick, singing and staying at the cottage with Gran, could be just the distraction she needed.
Or was she simply wasting hers and the societies’ time?